


Making the Future

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Ending, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Delusions, F/M, Hive Mind, Infected Characters, Mind Control, Multiple Penetration, Sibling Incest, Tentacles, Unhealthy Relationships, technically not incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Dana was safe.  He tore his way through the infected and tapped into their hive mind and found her.  Unfortunately, the connection that allowed him to find his sister didn't just work one way.  Greene has such plans for the Mercers, and Alex will be the one to carry them out for her.





	Making the Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).



The Leader Hunter swayed drunkenly on its three legs; the right forepaw was somewhere in the streets below.  He stood, glowering at the thing, tendrils lashing up and down his arms, finally settling on a set of long, sharp claws.  He’d been trying everything during the fight; brute strength, the blade, whipping tendrils, just to see what could make the thing howl most.

Scraping the claws against on another he spread his arms wide to goad it.

The Hunter leapt, and he jumped to the side, letting it slam into the dented, jagged remnants of the rooftop AC unit that he’d torn off and beaten it with.  The rooftop was a mess; covered in cracks and decorated with shards of metal and fragments of tooth and chitin and painted with a layer of red-black, sticky blood.  His wounds still hadn’t healed all the way; a few points of the ragged semicircle the monster had punched through his armor with its teeth still bled.  The Hunter was dripping from well over a dozen slashes, deep enough to cut to the bone.

The fight had been brutal, he went in with no plan, taking blows he could’ve dodged; slugging it out instead of using his speed and keeping his distance.  Because he didn’t want to give the thing distance.  It had gotten away from him before, and now he couldn’t let it do that again.  He needed it.  As it recovered from it’s leap, he clambered on its back, shoving a set of claws in until they met something solid.  Then he began to _saw_.

Two spines.  Redundant internal organs.  Hide strong enough to stop a .50 caliber round dead.  In a way, Alex Mercer was glad the thing was so goddamn tough, that he had to put so much effort into killing it.  Because every time he had cut it, every tooth he had knocked out, every bone this thing had that he had broken was unimaginably cathartic.

This was the thing that took Dana.

He kept hacking and sawing, dug-in claws anchoring him while the beast tried to buck him off.  He just kept at it until whatever thing inside it had caught his claws was damaged enough to no longer provide resistance.  When the Hunter toppled onto its side and his tendrils dug in and lanced through it’s still-breathing body and ripped away nerve and flesh and bone, he howled along with it. 

It was getting rough.  He’d gotten used to people, mostly.  Merging in their memories with what he already knew, filtering important information and ignoring the unimportant, he had gotten used to that.  The infected though… he hadn’t noticed it for a long time, maybe because he hadn’t been trying to, but now it was intense.  He’d been consuming infected for the past day, latching on to the hive mind they shared, all to find this Hunter.

 _Water tower in… Clinton._ Irrelevant.

 _Times square_.  Irrelevant.

 _An apartment, viewed from a hole torn through the exterior wall.  Panicked brunette woman, with a confused and confusing thing standing behind her_.  Relevant.

 _Brown eyes, maternally dispassionate, cold and warm._   Irrelevant.

 _Panicked military men._   Irrelevant.

 _The brunette woman, screaming as she was held in a massive paw.  Scent of her was interesting_.  Relevant.

 _MOTHER_.  Maybe relevant.

 _First responders_.  Irrelevant.

 _More of the brunette screaming.  The prodigal son following across rooftops._   Relevant.

 _Columbia University?  The library, covered in veins of pulsing meat the thickness of tree trunks.  The brunette screaming._  Relevant.

 _The brunette, laying on the floor of a hive.  MOTHER standing over her.  Triumph at bringing MOTHER the prize.  The brunette had potential._   Very fucking relevant.

He returned to his senses lying on the rooftop next to a pile of meat that might’ve been half of the Hunter.  Most of the spinal columns and the contents of its skull.  Claws receded into hands, chitinous armor became a facsimile of leather, cloth, and flesh.  He got to his feet shakily, things still tumbling through his head incomprehensibly.  Thousands of infected, all connected, Greene at the top.  He had been listening in, getting closer and closer to this Hunter, all so he could rip out everything it knew.

And his suspicions were right.  It knew where she was, she hadn’t been moved from where she had been taken.  Worries that the chase across Manhattan killed her, or that Greene had the second Dana had been brought before her were allayed.  Greene was planning… _something_ … it was confusing, he had trouble parsing it. 

But he’d known that the Hunter had taken Dana for a reason anyways, he knew Greene had something planned.  What it was didn’t matter; all that mattered was he knew where Greene was and where Dana was.  And that meant two things; he was going to kill Greene, cut of the head of the infection; and he was going to save his sister.

* * *

He leapt through the gaping hole, landing in something damp that quivered under him, the same pink meat that coated the outside.  He’d ditched the tank he’d used to blast open the hive outside; the thing was burning already anyways.  The building was dark; almost all the light coming from the hole he blasted through the side.  The mix of burning wood, meat, and petrochemicals assailed him.  He looked around and called out “Dana?”

The growls of monsters weren’t very reassuring to him.  His eyes shifted, growing more rod cells to compensate for the darkness; a brief switch to infrared-sensing cells was worthless, the entire building was about the temperature of a spiking fever.  It had been gutted, columns and floors collapsed and replaced by sinew.  He stepped over bookshelves, toppled and coated in spongy muck. He had to stifle parts of him, bits he had stolen from the minds of other people throwing out trivia about the university, the library, a random book he spotted that was half-dissolved in a puddle of slime. 

A set of scaffolds were hanging from the ceiling, tangled in vines of meat.  If nothing else, the height of the vantage point would make it easier to find her.  He leapt and was almost shocked that the metal held his weight.  Almost; the infected mass spread across it made things strong.

He heard footsteps on his level, across the room.  She was walking on a scaffold opposite him, rot trailing along the safety railing where she ran her hand along it.  Elizabeth Greene.  Whispers gnawed at the back of her head as he glared at her.

“Where is she?!” He demanded.  It was unnecessary.  He could tear that answer out of her skull when he beat her to death.  He had thought about bringing an edge; Ragland had kept samples of the living cancer that Blackwatch had tried to kill him with, it probably would do the same to her.  But he decided against it, it felt wrong.  Too unpredictable.

“Safe.”  She placed her hands on the railing and smiled.  Smug, annoying.  Like she didn’t mean Dana any harm.  The whispers increased in volume in his head; he pushed them back down. 

“What the Hell are you?” That was the question.  What was she, what was he, what was the point of the virus.  Memories of dead researchers said he was an aberration compared to her, something that made no sense based on human understanding of the virus, since his strain was modified.  But she had insights people lacked.

“The reason.”  Another cryptic nonanswer. 

“For what?!” Part of him wanted to talk to her to learn from her.  But most of him?  Was tiring of this.  He’d find out what he wanted to learn from her brain after he tore it free.  He’d know everything he wanted, about the virus, about her, about Hope, about Penn Station.  And about Dana.

“Everything.” She said that like it was obvious.

Fuck it then, he pounced across the scaffolding and she leapt to meet him; slamming together in midair.   He landed hard on his back and she dropped down hard enough to break something that was knitting back together the second the injury occurred. 

He slammed his head against hers, and she reeled back, enough for him to swing a fist.  She went flying and his arms shifted, spikes growing; it was something he should’ve done at the start, he could’ve gutted her instead of punching her. 

She just manaically grinned through teeth stained yellow-red, blood dripping freely from her mouth.  She ducked his charge and scurried off to the side, him following, too pissed off to think of strategy.  Greene dodged and hopped and he gave chase, the whispers turning to screams in his head.  His head was pounding, like he could hear a city’s worth of infected howling in his mind.  She barreled over a pile of rubble and he leapt after her, freezing the minute he cleared it.

Dana was there; crouched down low hair matted with sweat and clothes clinging to her with infected mass, staring at him like she couldn’t believe it.  He shifted, the heavy blade and shield his arms had become shifting back to normal.  Out the corner of his eye, he could see Greene retreat into the darkness.  “Dana, are you…”

She cut him off by throwing her arms around him.  The screaming in his head quieted down as he curled an arm around her shoulders.  She was safe, it didn’t matter that Greene was gone, he could kill her later.  Now his sister was safe and that was good.

The next round of screams wasn’t in his head; Dana practically jumped out of his grasp when he heard them.  Hunters, walkers, maybe something else?  Greene still had to be around here somewhere, waiting for him to kill her.  But it didn’t matter, he couldn’t risk a fight with Dana in the middle of it.  He scooped her up his arms and broke into a run, dashing for the light coming from the hole in the building’s side.

He easily cleared it and kept running, crumpling a Humvee that had pulled up next to the derelict thermobaric tank.  He leapt again, ignoring the sound of shouting, then infected shrieking, and then the mixture of human screams, gunfire, and monsters. 

He took to the rooftops immediately.  He could outpace most of the infected, and if any could catch up, they’d be separated, a fight would be easier to manage, easier to keep Dana separate from.  He could run all the way to Battery Park if need be.  Except after a few leaps, putting not enough distance, she squirmed in his grip and cried out.  “Stop!  Jesus Christ!”

He landed on the next roof with a thud, fighting the urge to keep running.  Dana kicked and thrashed in his arms until he set her down.  She stumbled a bit, and he held out a hand to steady her.  She leaned into him heavily.  He looked her over.  “Sorry, I…”

“It’s alright.” She said, taking in a deep breath.  “I just… I’m sore, and bouncing around these rooftops is… I just don’t want to do that again.”

She trailed off, and he walked her over to the parapet of the roof, guiding her to sit down.  He crouched down next to her to keep at eye level.  She averted her eyes for a minute before looking directly at him.  Her heart was pounding; he could hear it.  He placed a hand on her shoulder.  She made no move to brush him off, and he took that as a good sign. 

He didn’t say anything though.  He was at a loss for words.  He had prepared himself for the worst, and right now, she was right next to him, looking alright.  Shaken, but she’d be fine.  The rush of conflicting relief, happiness, and fear of losing her again was lancing through his head.  Somewhere, his anger was burning down, waiting for an outlet.  He slammed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

They both reeked of the hive; meat and blood.

He stared past Dana, not seeing any Hunters pursuing them.  A low-flying squadron of Apaches buzzed past, apparently Blackwatch were swooping in now that he’d cracked the hive open for them.  He snapped his attention back to her. 

The fight with Greene was inconclusive.  They weren’t being chased.  And Dana was not seriously injured; he would’ve noticed had she had broken bones on the way over.  She’d be aching for a while, but she was in better shape than he could’ve ever predicted.

 _All too easy_ , a voice in his head told him.

He couldn’t think like that.  Dana was safe with him.  He’d just have to remain vigilant; Greene’s pets couldn’t be allowed to find her again.  Nobody could be allowed to.  He felt the rippling of tendrils running down his arms the split second before Dana looked at him, eyes wide and leaned back.

“Sorry.” He said, willing his arms to return to normal.  There was a long pause during which neither of them looked at the other beyond glances from the corner of their eyes.  Finally, he looked up at the sky and said “It’s getting dark.  We need to get you off the street.”

She met his gaze when he said that, and she gingerly forced herself to her feet.  He offered her a hand which she didn’t take.  It hurt a little, but he couldn’t blame her, she probably thought he wanted to go off running again.  He did want to do that, but there were other options.  He tilted his head towards the door to the apartment’s roof.  They descended the stairs in silence.

It would be so much faster to get there by running.  So much easier.  But she was terrified; he could still hear her screaming for him, clear as day when she had been kidnapped.  He was scared at that moment, someone so fragile, so important to him, being dragged off by a monster.  He couldn’t imagine how it was for her.

She winced a little when he punched out the driver’s side window of a sedan parked in the street, before giving a devilish little grin when she noticed he was hotwiring it; when she thought he wasn’t looking at her.  He grinned himself when the car sputtered to life.

“Where to?” She asked.

* * *

He stood on a rooftop, the deep lesions in what passed for his skin, the bits of him that were killed and festered, sealing up as he stood in clear, cool air.  He resisted the urge to tear into the Blackwatch soldier he’d grabbed and dragged up here with him; the Bloodtox had screwed up his thinking and he wanted to collect his thoughts before adding in more information. 

Gentek and Blackwatch were always thinking of new ways to piss him off.  Massive quantities of aerosolized chemicals, allegedly harmless to people but painful-to-lethal to the infected including him.  The gigantic super soldiers were a new one on him, too.  They’d rolled them out haphazardly; memories of a dead man told him they had wanted to lure him into a trap, but his anomalous behavior meant they eventually were pushed to full field deployment before they could test it out in an enclosed space.

Untested or not, running against them was painful.  It had been close.  But close mattered little.  He was almost back to full strength, fifteen minutes after ripping and tearing his way out of the outpost.  It required a dozen people, maybe more, but the dead tissue was replaced.  The soldier in his grasp feebly batted at his arm.  Almost back to full strength.  The buzzing in his head increased, maybe some of the people he consumed were in the early stages of infection?  It was familiar.  Didn’t matter.

He glared down at the red mist blanketing the city wincing.  At least the Bloodtox would probably help keep Dana safe.  He had set her up in an upscale hotel in midtown.  He ditched the car a few blocks away, then carried her up the stairs; there were a lot on the way up and she wasn’t up to climbing them all.  She was alright as long as he kept his pace slow and wasn’t leaping from rooftop to rooftop.  He talked the way up, he was sure they wouldn’t get in trouble for borrowing the room.

She didn’t ask what he meant by that.  Which he took as a good size.

The suite he had chosen was big.  According to her, it was bigger than any apartment she’d lived in or crashed at.  Ritzier, too.  It was bigger than her apartment he saved her from Blackwatch in and the safehouse they’d borrowed, combined.  The expensive looking briefcase and rolling luggage in one of the bedrooms didn’t matter.  Alex said he was sure the man and woman staying here fled earlier, an implausible lie that she was not questioning him on

She knew without asking that him finding her involved a bloody swath through everything in between them, and when he told her that the monster that taken her died, describing it in detail, she nodded and said “good.”

He liked that, the fact she wasn’t judging him for his behavior.  He remembered when he backed her to a corner, rambling and making things worse.  Nothing about him had changed since then, but having seen Greene and her monsters up close, he was less terrifying to her; he was her brother and had saved her after all.

The first night he’d checked over her injuries.  She had a lot of bruises but he didn’t think she had any fractures, apologizing profusely when he palpated to see if there were any.  She would be okay.  That night he had, reluctantly left the hotel to bring in food, water, and fresh clothing.  The stuff she wore in the hive, covered in gunk, was tossed in a bag for burning. 

She brought it up after a long time passed and he didn’t.  She’d been in the hive for a long time, was within spitting distance of Greene.  What if she was infected?  He smiled, leaned in close, and told her not to worry.  He could _see_ she wasn’t, this wasn’t a lie.  She nervously laughed and told him she was sorry, but he still could be a creepy bastard.

That hurt a little.

A few days passed, him hovering, wanting to keep her safe, before she asked if he had anywhere to be.  She didn’t want to be left alone; she’d been terrified of it, of Greene’s monsters finding her again.  But once he managed to set up a computer for her, and she managed to get a glimpse of the situation outside, she said it didn’t matter if he was guarding her or not; if he didn’t do something Manhattan would eat itself alive from right under her feet.

So she urged him to go back out, stop the infected, and get to the bottom of Penn Station, kill McMullen, all of the above.  She needed him to be out there dealing with Blackwatch and the monsters so they didn’t come for her, and whatever it was he wanted, he couldn’t find it in this hotel room.

He nodded and left.

It had been painful, leaving her.  Increasingly, part of him wished she was like him; bulletproof, fast and strong.  He did his best suppressed that thought; he scared her, hell, he scared himself.  He wanted to find out the people who turned him into a monster and make them pay.  He shouldn’t have been wishing she was like him in a million years.  Even if she would be safer, much safer.  After all, she was terrified about how he healed himself, how he learned about the world.  She probably wouldn’t enjoy it.  A lot of times he didn’t.  Although there were upsides.

He shouldn’t have wished Dana was a monster like him because he himself didn’t want to be one.  As the lesions stopped healing, needing mass to replenish himself, his eyes met those of the soldier in his grasp and he drew his fist back.

* * *

“Two hundred.” She said in a nasally New York accent.  He handed over the bills with zero hesitation.  She crumpled them in her fist, turned, and led the way.  Over her shoulder, she half turned and added “And you gotta wear a rubber.  Got that?”

“Yeah.”  He wouldn’t want to spread disease, after all. 

No power, no banks, dwindling supply at grocery stores.  Plenty of people were desperate to get the necessities, and willing to do anything for them.  Some people had been that desperate before the outbreak.  Memories of an NYPD cop who did a stint for Vice gave him locations to check and after that it was all a matter of finding the right woman.

She was maybe five-four, short brown hair.  From a distance, close enough for his purposes.  Up close, she was a poor proxy.  The different facial features could be accounted for by just screwing up his vision; her voice was another problem altogether; it was too high, with a completely wrong accent.

He’d been thinking about it a lot.

Ever since he’d gotten Dana back from the Hive, the jumble of emotions running through his head.  Relief was one, even if it was almost submerged by anger at Gentek… Greene too.  This entire city was going to Hell, and he’d almost lost her.  The awkward rush of confusion and contrition that hit him whenever he did little things that scared or startled her was another.  He’d wanted her safe, first and foremost, but as time went on, as things got louder and louder for him, he felt something else.

The… hunger was unexpected.  He didn’t get hungry; he was aware when he was spread thin of biomass and needed to replenish his supply, and feel a rush of satisfaction when killing Blackwatch to do so.  Maybe a little less with Marines.  But now, when he looked at her, it would come over him.

He ignored it as much as he could, left the apartment to follow up on leads to try and get it out of his head.  She was so important, and that new, confusing series of thoughts running through his head made him worry.  It wasn’t like his desire to kill and consume, but it was something close enough to be disturbing.

Because she was the only person he could trust, the only person he could tolerate, really.  Ragland had helped him out of fear; and without the parasite and having gotten Dana back, the man was no longer relevant.  Karen had only pretended to help him to lead him to slaughter, she was loose end he’d have to tie up one of these days.  Dana was afraid, of him, and of Blackwatch and the infected.  But she didn’t help him because she was afraid, she helped him because she was his sister.

So worrying about whether or not he subconsciously wanted her dead was unsettling to him.

It almost came as a relief when the thoughts had become much clearer.  He had been stalking an Army officer with information he wanted, he grew bored while hanging on rooftops and his thoughts drifted.  Almost a relief, because he realized that he didn’t really want to harm Dana.  Not quite a relief because of where his thoughts drifted.

He didn’t dream, didn’t sleep.  Sometimes, a memory, either a flickering of his life before the virus would play, or something clearer, ripped from the mind of one of his victims, would flash through his mind.  He thought it was the latter originally; some sexual encounter someone he killed had.  It was a little disturbing when the woman pulled away, wiped her mouth and looked up, it was Dana.  She gave a wicked smile and her blue eyes gleamed mischievously.

That could’ve been an odd coincidence; if he needed to he wasn’t discriminating in his meals and the possibility that he’d consumed a former lover of his sister was not impossible.  Except the antiquated but still-new looking tube television was playing a news report about the ongoing war in Vietnam.  Draft riots.  And the view out the windows was of a quaint Idaho town.  He was having a sexual fantasy about his sister, set in the backdrop of Hope. 

That was wrong.

He tried not to think about it, but the thoughts stubbornly stuck with him.  It was building.  In the hotel room with Dana, she’d be lounging in an oversized tee long enough to serve as a short dress, with her legs bare, and he’d have to try not to stare.  Or she’d be in a hoodie and jeans just tight enough to be intriguing.  When out, stalking prey, the thoughts were distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing.

So he decided to find a prostitute with a passing resemblance and try to get those thoughts out of his head.  He was wearing the face of a Marine; twenty-something self-professed alpha male with some free time.  She was using the name ‘Dana’ at his request.

When they got to her room, he willed himself to react when she stripped, and did everything he could to be _normal_ with her, although she found the fact he wanted to do it with his clothes on, just unzipped, to be a little unsettling..  It was hardly satisfying, and he left her partway through.

Her voice was wrong.  Up close, her face was wrong.  She had marks on her arms Dana didn’t, and was missing that birthmark on her left side that he noticed when checking Dana over for injuries.  She didn’t mind him cutting it short as long as he didn’t want a refund.  Of course he didn’t want a refund.

He wanted something else entirely.

But that was something he couldn’t have.  The entire experience was disappointing and put him in a foul mood, which actually kept him from being distracted when he decided to spend the rest of the night hunting a few Gentek scientists.

Their screams were satisfying enough, he guessed.

* * *

They’d moved again.  In retrospect the hotel was a bad choice; it was comfortable for her, and the military patrols would hopefully deter any more of Greene’s monsters, but it was also too close to Blackwatch and Gentek.  The fear struck him one night while he was out; in keeping her away from the Hive, had he put her at risk from other people?

She wasn’t happy about being stuck so close to an infected zone.  She let him know she worried, about Greene finding her, about another monster coming to take her away.  He tried to dismiss those, but she persisted.  He finally had to ask why she was more scared of Greene and company than of Blackwatch. 

“I saw her… when I was in the Hive.” Dana said, the hesitation in her voice making his blood boil.  For a second Greene was at the top of his list of things to kill.  For a second.  Then she sat down in a battered computer chair and looked up at him and he tried not to think of that fantasy.

He didn’t say anything in response, just studied her as she worked her jaw, trying to find a way to explain what had happened.  It felt like forever.  “I just remember waking up in the slime and muck hearing those things growling in the distance.  I tried to find my way out… but it was almost pitch-black inside until you blew up the wall, and they got really loud if I went to far from where I woke up.”

She paused to collect her thoughts again, and he crouched down on the balls of his feet, putting her at eye level.  He should’ve gone over this with her before, it had clearly been troubling her, and he’d been oblivious.  He hated that about himself, she was so important and he missed important things like this.  His guts twisted.  At least his anger at himself displaced other, more inappropriate thoughts.

“I dunno how long it was, but eventually, I just turned and she was right there.  I backed up, she stepped forward.” 

“Did she say anything to you?”

“No, she just stared at me.  I backed up and she stepped closer.  I slipped… there was rubble or something and everything was coated in gunk.” Alex had no idea why she felt the need to explain that away to him.  He wasn’t going to judge her; he was scared for her sake while she was away, he couldn’t imagine what she felt like.  “Then she just got over me and kept staring.”

“Did she say anything to you?” It would’ve been cryptic nonsense at best, but any clue was helpful.  The hive was solidly viral matter, and Greene was the source of it all.  There was no way Dana was infected, but there was no reason for Dana to not be infected.  Other than Greene didn’t want her to be.

Dana shook her head.  “I tried everything, bargaining, telling her I ‘got it’—she was experimented on and this was her revenge, and she just kept staring.  I begged and swore and didn’t get any reaction…”

 _Begged_ … that word conjured up her looking up with him, those bright blue eyes _pleading_.   He slammed his eyes shut.  This was not the time for that.

“…until I brought up _you_.”  That snapped his attention back to her.  She gulped, and looked him in the eyes.  “She got really close, and I just threw out that you were going to kill her and…”

“What did you say?”  He asked.  He wasn’t sure why, but if it provoked a reaction it might be worth knowing.

“I can’t remember.  Something like ‘my brother’s going to kill you’ or something.” Dana leaned back in her chair.  “And she smiled.”

Dana shuddered at that.  Alex nodded, as if pretending to understand the significance of why Greene did what she did would make things better.  “After that, she got up and left, and I just sat until you came and found me… so yeah… can you see why I don’t want to be so close to the infected zones?”

He empathized, or tried to, but she had to see she was safe.  She had nothing to worry about from the infected, and she countered with demanding to know how he could even think that.  He just felt it in his bones.

She said he had had been getting worse.  That he was ranting to her more and more which he supposed was true.  Dana couldn’t follow half of the references he threw out, and that worried her; he’d been learning a lot about Hope, Fort Detrick, about everything, and she knew how he learned about things.  She tried to point him in the direction of Greene again, she knew enough about how the virus worked to know Greene had to die.

McMullen and Blackwatch’s leadership came first.

She was exasperated with him, and he apologized.  She was wrong about a lot of things; but arguing with her over them was counterproductive.  

He knew she was scared of him, and was getting concerned again. But she would forgive him, she knew he was trying his best. She was put off by him but he was her brother, and monstrous as he was, she counted on him. He knew she'd see he was right, eventually.

Although a lot of things that felt _right_ were things he wasn't sure she'd see his way on. 

* * *

He crouched on the rooftop, looking down at the war in the streets below.  Dana had managed to track down McMullen again, and he was going to tear that slippery bastard apart piece by piece.  McMullen was the head of Gentek, the people he worked for before he was infected.  There was so much to learn from him.

The infected had become more and more brazen.  Like him, they were starting to build up a resistance to Bloodtox, and there were far more of them than there were super soldiers.  Blackwatch had tried to pump massive amounts down into the sewers and subways to clear the island, but the creatures had torn the equipment apart before they could set it up.  They almost had impunity now.  So it was hardly surprising when he reached the factory they had been using to produce the chemical that it was already besieged by them. 

Between the gunfire and the snarls, he was worried McMullen was already killed; there was such chaos in the streets he doubted whether he’d have his chance.  Until he saw the Blackhawk slowly orbiting a corner of the facility, a flat corner.  While bullets, missiles, chunks of concrete and cars were being thrown around they were attempting to land.

If it was reinforcements, they would have fast-roped down.  They were there to pick something _up_.  Someone.  He leapt a few rooftops closer, enough that his body began to itch from the Bloodtox.  Inconvenient, but not painful anymore.  A squad of Blackwatch troops in Biohazard gear were marching for the helicopter, forming a square around a man in a suit.

McMullen was at the center of the group.  He was at center of this.  There was so much he could learn from the man. 

He waited until the helicopter began a slow rise, and then he leapt.  He slammed into side of the bird, hard, sending it spinning while its engines sputtered and smoked and it began dropping, the rotation of its rotors the only thing stopping the descent from being a plummet.  He hit the ground and followed the smoke trail, waiting until he heard the crash.

When he got there, _she_ was there.

Elizabeth Greene, in the flesh.  A hunter was busy eviscerating the security detail while she had McMullen pinned on the ground.  The Director looked between Greene, his test subject, and Mercer, his former employee, and started babbling.  He tensed, Greene tensed.  The chaos in his head was starting to drown out the chaos all around him.

Except for her voice.  She hadn't said a word but stood their, judging him.

“Hand him over.” He demanded.  Greene could easily kill McMullen, and all that knowledge would be lost… it took him far to long to remember Greene also had so much hidden away inside that warped brain of hers.

She, predictably chose to give a non-response.  “How is she?”

“Stay away from Dana.” He growled, doing his best to ignore the twinge he felt when she brought Dana up.  The hunter interspersed itself between them, falling over when he bisected its head with a blade.  She didn’t seem to notice. 

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting her.” She smiled.  She sounded so _sincere_ that Alex almost dropped his guard.  It had been so disorienting, the first time he had run into Greene?  He didn’t mind, it felt almost, reassuring, things quieted for hm.  He couldn’t ignore what she was or why she had to die, though.  He’d have to kill her to save this city, and more importantly, Dana.  She shoved McMullen towards him, and the scientist fell over, leg bent at an awkward angle.

Alex took a few steps closer, he could kill Greene.  But… he could do that after McMullen.  The man goggled at him, blood streaming from a cut in his head.  “Why give him to me?”

“You’re confused.  He has the answers.”

That was maybe the first time he ever agreed with Greene.  McMullen futilely raised his hand as Alex raised his boot and brought it down with a crunch.

And got his answers.

* * *

He didn’t know if Greene had stayed put or not, he had left immediately after finding out everything McMullen knew.  Which was everything, even the things Blackwatch had tried to keep hidden from him.  The Hope Children, Greene’s child, and how during his employment, Alex Mercer had modified strains taken from her blood to make them even more potent. 

One such strain was him.  He wasn’t human.  Not “wasn’t human anymore”, he never was human, he wasn’t Alex Mercer.  Mercer was just a disguise and set of fragmented memories, the same as his other victims.  It was something that was staring him in the face, a possibility he could’ve entertained long before but didn’t.  But now, he felt it in his bones, or whatever he had passing for bones.  He knew it, because McMullen did; the virus reshaped itself based on what it fed on, and Alex Mercer was simply its first meal.

He was nothing more than living rot that tore and ate and copied itself, mimicking the form of its prey.  People, like Alexander Mercer, or any of his other victims.  He was no more Alex Mercer than he was Raymond McMullen, or any the countless masses he’d torn into, to find out who he was or what he had done.  Destroying the infection to save mankind lost some of its luster when he was not a man.  That gave him something to think about. 

Greene hadn’t been wrong when she said he was his mother.  Because Greene wasn’t Greene, anything of the woman was burned out decades ago; she was just another face of the virus.  The one Alex Mercer had made a stronger counterpart to and was consumed by.  She and her brood of monsters were his family more than anyone else.  Including Dana.

That should’ve been horrifying to him.  It wasn’t.

Because he wasn’t Alex Mercer.  McMullen didn’t just know who he was, he knew what the real Mercer had done.  All this time, he had assumed that someone, Gentek, probably, injected Alex Mercer with the virus, and blamed him for it.  But that was wrong.  He was the virus, and Mercer, his creator, had released it.  Out of spite after being trapped, after stealing it out of spite.  He condemned Manhattan, and more importantly Dana, to die out of spite.

Learning that made him retreat, back to her.  She was the only person he could trust, the only person he could actually tolerate, because she was his sister.  But she wasn’t.  So, he couldn’t trust her, she was nothing special, just another potential source of biomass.  But he _knew_ she was too important for that, for him.  She was special in some way.  That she wasn’t really his sister wasn’t as crushing as he supposed it could be. 

In fact, it meant that those obtrusive thoughts he’d having made more sense.  He pushed that thought back down as he landed hard on the roof, rushing towards the door, tearing his way down the stairs and burst through the door. 

She looked up at him, bleary eyed.  She must’ve fallen asleep at her computer.  Her face went to confusion to concern as she saw his agitation.  He loomed over her, forcing himself to back off.  He needed to think, but his mind was racing in fifty different directions.  How he could tell her the truth.  What lies he could tell her instead.  She looked lovely.  He needed to get her off this island. 

He sank into the couch bonelessly.  She winced as wood cracked.  They stared at each other; him not wanting to say anything until things were sorted out.  It took her a long time to work up to ask “Alex?”

His head snapped in her direction and his eyes burned into her.  She started to shrink back.  He looked her up and down, took a deep breathe and looked away, tossing his head back.  “Sorry.  Wasn’t you.  Wasn’t you at all.”

Except something in him was stirring because of her.  Because she was showing concern over him.  Because she was the first and only thing he had reason to care about, and he was clinging to it even if those reasons were lies. 

“What happened?”  From her tone, she had no idea how to handle the situation.  He was aware he was dangerously unstable right now.  But… there was nobody else for him to turn to.  And she had no one else to turn to, either.  They needed one another, even if he was so close.  She asked a question that was a hairs breadth away from setting him off “Did you see McMullen?”

He nodded, this was not a line of questions he wanted to answer right now.  He flashed to Penn Station, covered in bodies.  His doing, but not his doing.  Dana was there, lying down among them, but not dead.  Definitely not dead, the way she was beckoning him.  He shut his eyes and forced himself to focus, staring off to the side instead of her to try to keep those thoughts out.

“He get away?” Alex had been trying to find McMullen since the start, and she knew what he intended to do to him.  That horrified her previously.  But now she sounded conciliatory; like she was sad he hadn’t gotten to be his inhuman self and tear answers from McMullen’s head.  She was trying to console her brother.

But he shook his head, still looking straight ahead rather than at her.  “Got him.”

“And?” She leaned towards him a bit.  He could tell she was doing her best to push aside her fears, he wasn’t mad at her, so she shouldn’t be afraid.  Except maybe she should’ve been.  She was being brave to try to help him work through this.

“I learned everything I wanted to.” He said, continuing to not look at her. “About Hope.  About Penn Station.  About myself.”

Except what he’d learned was all wrong. 

She probably knew if the answers had this effect on him, she probably shouldn’t seek them.  But she was as nosy as he was, she had to dig.   “What did you find out?”

He let out a dismissive laugh.  “Everything’s been a waste of goddamn time.  Alex Mercer, Penn Station, Gentek… things have just gotten worse and worse the more I dug, hasn’t it?  I’ve been shot, burned, poisoned, and betrayed by every single person I trusted… except _you_ … and all for fucking what?  Nothing.  Greene can fucking have this city.”

“Alex.” She shouted, causing him to turn his head to her.  She flinched, before steeling herself and swallowing.  “You can’t be fucking serious.  There’s millions of…”

“Do you _know_ how many people have died because they were in my way?  Because I needed to fix myself?  Because I had a _brilliant_ plan or trusted the wrong person?”  He snarled, then his face immediately softened.  He wasn’t mad at her, he wasn’t mad at her.

He wasn’t mad at her.  But she was agitating him.  She had been since he had first met her. 

He got to his feet and took a step towards her.  She took a step back.  She juked and tried to run past him, only for him to grab her by the shoulder and pin her against a wall.  She tried thrashing and fighting.  It didn’t do anything.  She raked his face with her nails and gouged an eye and after far too much effort her thumb sank in and he winced a little.  Something writhed against her hand and she pulled it back n fear, to his amusement.

He blinked, and the empty socket filled in, no worse than it had been.  Elbowing him in the head didn’t do anything until she yelped and stopped, arm twitching.  She must have hit him just right to hit her funny bone.  Painful, but not serious.  But if she kept struggling…

 “Alex, stop.” She mustered as much force in her voice as she could’ve.  It wasn’t much, and he knew this wouldn’t be bad for her.  He caught both wrists in a massive, clawed hand.  Talons dug into the wall as he pinned both her arms over her head.  She trembled as he ran the dull edge of one of his right-hand claws against her face, trailing it down.  She began thrashing as hard as she could when he dragged it against cloth, though.

“Dana, stop squirming.” He ordered.  She was thrashing unpredictably, but luckily she froze when he told her too.  Part of him regretted how harsh his voice had sounded.  Taking a deep breath, he explained.  “I might cut you.”

The look of confusion she had on her face was kind of cute.  She kept still as he hacked her shirt apart.  She’d gasped when he hooked a claw between her breasts, under her bra, and flicked, tearing the material and baring her to him.  When he gently, _carefully_ , slid a claw down the waistband of her jeans and underwear, he almost jolted when she screamed. “Alex!”

He paused when she screamed his name.  His name that was not his name.  Had he hurt her?  He really was trying not to.  He couldn’t hurt her.  She was the only thing worth giving a damn about in the whole world to him.  He gave her an examination; he hadn’t cut her; the only injuries he could see were the bruises from the Hunter, which had shrunk and changed from black-purple to a lighter red-yellow.

She stared at him, eyes wet and red.  He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, like any other victim in his grasp.  She was terrified of him.  For a moment, he loosened his grip, searching for a reason why he was doing this to her.  She didn’t want this, and he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out when he realized that.

That moment passed.

That couldn’t be right.  The thought just popped in his head as she struggled against him. A hundred justifications flowed through his mind, all sufficient to justify him continuing.  This was too important to stop, and she couldn’t _really_ be refusing him, and if she was… he wasn’t going to hurt her, he was strong enough that he could keep her still without having to harm her.  He had to let her know he wasn’t going to hurt her, how important she was.  She was scared because of how fast he was going.  He wasn’t thinking of _her_.

Alex realized was being selfish.  He was far too strong, no wonder why she was apprehensive about things.  He always intended to be careful with her, but he got carried away. How forceful he was had to be intimidating. He needed to ease her into it.  Make her comfortable, and then make it as enjoyable as possible for her.  She deserved every effort he could spare for her, after all.   He’d make her enjoy this… make sure she enjoyed this, he corrected himself.

He dug through previously-irrelevant memories.  What men thought women enjoyed, what women enjoyed.  A whimpering from Dana drew his attention to her; their eyes locked before Alex looked down, watching black tendrils sliding up her legs.  It was entirely subconscious on his part; he was incredibly eager for this.

She was too.  She was putting on a good act, but something in him was convinced that her struggles were all part of the game.  She knew he liked hunting, it made sense she’d figure he’d like a bit of struggling.  She was smart like that. Such a tease.

Tendrils creeped up and branched, the dark, slick shapes sliding against her pale skin.  She was warm and the fast, rhythmic pumping of blood through the big arteries at her inner thigh sped him up.  The tentacles avoided her genitalia, for now, sliding over her belly and up.  Similar tentacles began winding over her shoulders and across her collarbone.

She opened her mouth to yell again, and three tentacles found their way inside.  She tried biting, accomplishing nothing but making him chuckle.  He let her wrists go and chitin and claws turned into skin and fingers.  While he gently stroked her face, she yelped inarticulately as tentacles slithered around her teeth and tongue. 

He leaned forward and kissed her neck.  “I appreciate that you’re afraid.  But I want you do know I’m going to be very careful.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, and it was actually a little bit of a struggle to keep her from thrashing free of the tentacles in her mouth.  He hadn’t put them in too deep; didn’t want to risk choking her.  Tiny things like this were a challenge.  A fun one.

She was being so much fun.

He took a knee, putting himself at eye level with her crotch.  He lifted her right leg up and over his shoulder.  She shifted on her left foot, unbalanced, even though he was holding her steady.  A few of the tentacles started to slid inside, writhing against her walls as the did.  He kissed her clit and looked up.  It was mildly disappointing she wasn’t making eye contact.

His tongue found that little nub full of nerve tissue and ran against it.  She quivered, especially when he moved the tip in a slow circle, clockwise then counter-clockwise.  She tasted wonderful.  All the while, a few more tendrils continued to work her over.  As he lapped at her, he noticed she made such wonderful little noises against the tendrils in her mouth.

He continued working her, her body wavering as she built up.  He could feel the tension in her core muscles, little involuntary tremors that had nothing to do with her playing at trying to escape.  She could fight her own biology just as successfully as she could fight him off.  He just kept working her over until she let out a muffled cry, there was a rush of fluid, and her body jolted before going completely slack, held up only by his body and the tentacles.

 _Y’know, the French call it ‘le petit mort’—the little death_.  He had no idea why that thought struck him as he made her moan and writhe in his grasp.  Admittedly, the feeling he had working her over, the rush of chemicals in what counted for his nervous system, felt a little similar to how he felt in the middle of a fight.  Only a little.  And the feelings attached to what he was doing for Dana were completely unlike anything he felt for his enemies. 

He looked up at her, head hanging low.  Their eyes met, and she let out a sob that part of him actually believed was sincere.  But it couldn’t be.  He smiled up at her.  Then his attention went back to her clit and he began licking her again.  The tendrils kept moving.  He could keep at this forever and not get tired; and she deserved every bit of pleasure he could give her.

Some time after he shoved her over the edge again, a thought hit him.  He wanted to know every inch of her.  A tiny, slick tendril pressed against her ass.  Her eyes widened and she tensed up.

“Relax…” He reassured.  She clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.  He nodded, and the tentacle stopped pressing against her, instead running up the small of her back before looping around her, the tip stroking her belly.  He wanted to show her he could be considerate.

He leaned heavily on memories of bad encounters, too rough, unsatisfying, as he worked her over, gently as possible.  He wanted this to be pleasurable for her and knowing what didn’t work for others might help him avoid common mistakes.  She was soft and warm and his tentacles were finding every sensitive spot, every bit of her that made her shake and wince and shudder and he kept at it. 

He’d experimented with different positions, and angles.  Her against the wall, him on his knees.  Her upside down, blood rushing to her head as ate her out.  Her on the floor, him nipping at her neck while tentacles did all the work. 

Eventually he began to feel he’d warmed her up enough.  He had wants… needs of his own to take care of.  She looked up at him when the tendrils pulled out of her; she looked terrified and sickened, but still somehow perfect. 

Maybe she didn’t want this?

That was impossible.

She shuddered when the tentacles withdrew.  He scooped her up in his arms, and she wailed.  She feigned disgust at what he did to her and for the fact it felt good, but she didn’t struggle as he carried her around the apartment, headed for the bedroom, or when his clothes disappeared in a flurry of darkness and he set her down on the bed.  There was a pause as he stroked one of her legs and looked her in the eyes.

She opened her mouth, maybe to swear at him some more.  She had barely gotten out his name when he clambered on top of her and pressed his lips against hers before she could utter a syllable.  One hand, on the back of her neck, held her head against his, while the other ran along her side before sliding under her in an embrace.  He let out a lustful growl as fingers traced her spine and his tongue slid in her mouth.

She bit him.  Hard.

Her teeth hadn’t done anything to the tentacles.  But this time they sank into flesh. It didn't hurt; he'd been shot, burned, electrocuted, dissolved, parasitized, and poisoned; the feeling was too minute to be unpleasant.  Something _thick_ ran from where her teeth cut his tongue, and she started struggling again as pieces wiggled and tried to knit back together.Alex held her fast, not letting her break the kiss as the too-thick blood burned its way down her throat and she felt his tongue try to squirm back together against her teeth.  She opened her jaws and screamed against his mouth, and he didn’t react at all.

He held her head against his until she was out of breath, then pulled back, smiling as she gasped and coughed and clutched at her throat.  That was not his fault, and he could make it all better for her, was going to do that.  After a few choking, shuddering false starts, she asked “Why are you doing this to me?”

She was an amazing actor, how her voice sounded, so weak, plaintive.  She was really into this.  He didn’t answer.

“Alex, why are you doing this?!” She demanded with more force as he pried her legs apart and lined himself up.  The tone made him lock eyes with her.

“Because I love you, Dana.” He said, tousling her hair and grinning. 

She threw out an “I hate you”, which he almost believed.

He guided the head of his cock to her vagina, and she railed.  She wasn’t playing around, this wasn’t some roleplay scenario.  She was not playing a game with him.  She didn’t want him.  His face twitched.  His grin faltered, the broadened, then faltered again.  He looked down at her, and something almost like guilt lanced through him.  He didn’t want to stop, but stroked her face.  He had no idea why his next words were “I know.”

Then he leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and buried himself to the hilt.  She yowled, and he immediately regretted it.  Was he being to forceful?  The tentacles probably were better at hitting her sensitive spots.

“It’ll get better, Dana.  I promise”.  She was throwing out a litany of curses at him as he thrust in and out of her again, and again.  The tentacles had to have felt better.  They didn’t thrust in and out, they found something sensitive and stroked and quivered.  He was lined up well, knew he was hitting plenty of nerves, but it wasn’t novel, wasn’t hitting everything _just right_. 

He could make this better for her.

He paused as he tried to work out the details; had to be careful.  She felt something slither around inside her, changing shape.  Looked at him in mock-horror, and he followed his gaze, noting black patches of armor forming on his torso.  They receded, but the chitinous patches running from his navel down remained the same.  Except for the bits that were moving.  She whimpered.

He pulled back, and something, a bump, a ridge, that wasn’t there when he had started brushed against her walls as he withdrew, eliciting whine from her.  She tensed.  She must have expected him to shove himself back in and all those extra inhuman textures would slide against her again.  He wanted too, desperately, but maybe she'd enjoy it more if she could pick the pace. She looked up at him, confusion cutting through her fear as he pulled all the way out.

She made a go at diving away when he Alex laid down, and he let her almost get off the bed before grabbing her ankle and pulling her close.  He held her up and tendrils wound around her; not penetrating but holding her in place as he positioned their bodies.  Her hands were free and she punched him before tendrils bound her arms; he didn’t want her breaking any bones.  After a reassuring nod, he pulled her down.

Something was there to hit her clit when he was all the way in, and some things hit everything sensitive inside her while he was going in.  There was a pause as she looked dumbounded at the little writing bits of his anatomy stroking her. He intended to let her set the pace, but she just panted and shook, eyes wide.  He shrugged and lifted her up.  And he kept at a tireless pace.  At some point there was a crack of wood and the bed collapsed underneath them. 

It didn’t take her long to cum for him.  Again. 

She swore, said she hated him.  He corrected her; she hated her brother, he was responsible for all of it.  Then he pulled her down against him and kissed her, nipped her ear, she clawed at his eyes and slammed her head against his face.  That amused him.

She screamed.

He growled.

There was a lot going on in his head, creeping thoughts of other infected, including something faint and familiar that he latched onto.  It was largely incomprehensible, except for physical sensation.  He was correct, this way was better for her.

At some point, she had begun to buck in time with him.  She made a show of stopping herself if he slowed down to appreciate her movements, tightening every muscle to try to stay still.  But it was  lovely display nonetheless.  He was getting close; he didn’t show it, didn’t change his pace, didn’t say it, but he was approaching.

He still managed to push her over the edge again first.  Any strength left her by then and she collapsed against him, warm and mewling.  He finished inside her shortly after.  She was laying weak on top of him.  Quivering.  He could  _feel_ that everywhere he had touched her, she burned.  He felt every scrap of emotion he had wrung out of her.  It would take too much effort to sort out noise in the chaotic mess, and he focused on the upside.  He was unquestionably right, it was pleasurable for her, and beyond just the physical, it was... interesting. He was getting something new from her; and he thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of _togetherness_ with her.

Dana would, too. Sooner or later.

* * *

He didn’t sleep.

But he hadn’t moved from the bed since they were done.  Dana had drifted off shortly after they were done, worn out by their efforts.  Sprawled out on top of him, he watched her carefully, worrying.  The assurance he'd had was fading.  The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't shake the feeling he misjudged her reaction to him.

The changes were less concerning.  The skin of her back, and probably the rest of her, had developed red marks where his tendrils had gripped her; he hadn’t grabbed her tightly, it was probably an immune response, that had already begun to fade.  She wasn't having any difficulty breathing; her airway remained open.  He could feel her body heating with fever.  Part of him was trying to work up the nerve to be horrified at what he had done, he dimly thought that would be appropriate somehow. Even if she would be strong and fast and safe as he was.  She'd never get hurt again, and he'd never have to worry about that. 

He probably was overthinking this.

He was also listening.  Faintly, above her breathing and hearbeat, he heard it.  And he could feel it.  Feel her.  Greene.

Bare feet padded across the carpet, trailing rot and decay.  She ran her hand across the wall, spreading corruption.  Her children were in this building.  Her children were over the entire island, but she heard the birth cries of her newest daughter and came to investigate.  She thought things were right but was careful.  He could tell, just by looking at her, she wasn’t sure she could predict their actions or curb their misbehaviors, like her other children.  He could crush her skull, and she tensed up as he thought that.  Did he want to, though?  She relaxed.

He hadn’t been listening before; he was stubborn and foolish and so destructive.  He’d been seeking the truth while intentionally blinding himself.  But she knew the way to make him listen, make him come to heel.  It was the thing he followed blindly, nothing more than meat, possibly with potential, but not as she was. 

Tapping into the hive mind to find Dana had given her an in.  He gazed into the abyss, and it into him.  And she had so much work to do. To fix him. Bring him back into the fold. In retrospect, all the insane delusions he'd been working under, humanity, redemption, those were almost embarrassing.

Dana was uninteresting to Greene, except for the fact that he had seen her as a sister.  And that was a very interesting thing indeed.  ‘Alex’s’ mind was broken, but if the girl was supposed to be part of the family, that could be arranged.  It took far more prodding than she thought it would, and through angles that were unexpected, but eventually her son came around.  At least enough to share his gift with the girl, lighting her up and burning away so much that made her uninteresting. 

What remained was family.

He realized he had played into her hands but couldn’t work up the effort to be angry at that.  There were other things to be upset about.  What would happen now?  Greene dropped to a crouch and reached for Dana.  He sat up and gripped her possessively, and Greene backed off a step.  Another wave of embarrassment. He wasn't human, wasn't even close. Dana would be fast and strong when she woke up, but she'd also need the right context. The kind he had been blind too. She needed Greene. He needed Greene.

When Dana woke up she might be confused, like he was. Scared, like she was earlier tonight. He could help, but so much was foggy, unfocused. Greene would show her the way, and he'd be there to help Dana at every step. After all, she was his sister. Now.

“She’s with us now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hm... this was in response to an intriguing prompt, because some of Alex's dialogue in the mission where he's tapping into the hivemind suggests he's losing it and he was never all there to begin with. I initially was going to keep it confined to around the mission, but it just kept expanding as I wrote it. Playing around with just how messed up he is, and how that affects his dynamics with other characters is very interesting.


End file.
